Transformation
by PurplePatchwork
Summary: Gilbert has nightmares of being chased and bitten. As the moon grows fuller, his nightmares might become reality.


Running through the forest. Muddy soil and dried leafs scrunching beneath his bare feet, the soles aching. Ragged breathing flying out his throat and through his ears, adrenaline urging him on. A sort of whining sound escaping his lips as the steady drum of two pairs of feet comes closer—dodge the tree, left, right—closer still. And then finally, hot breath in his neck, teeth biting down on soft flesh, cutting through skin like knives through butter, warm blood trickling down his nape.

Gilbert shot up in his bed, bathing in cold sweat. Panting, he leant forward on his knees, blinking in rapid succession in an attempt to chase away those images. A glance around told him that luckily, he hadn't woken any of his roommates. The only sounds besides his own were those of calm breathing, and the faint chirping of crickets outside. All was well.

An entire week he'd been waking up in the middle of the night with this exact nightmare. When he placed a hand in the back of his neck, he swore he could feel the indents those sharp fangs had left there, as if the dream was trying to force itself into this world, become something palpable.

Shuddering, he hugged his knees to his chest, resting his forehead against them. _Just a dream_ , he chastised himself, _stop being such a pussy._ The nightmares wouldn't get better by being afraid of them. No, he had to face them head-on, like a real man would.

Gilbert stubbornly lay back down, curling up in his cocoon of blankets. He was going to sleep, whether his mind wanted to or not. No matter how many times the dream would chase after him, no matter how sick he began to feel with each passing day. He'd probably just eaten something bad, and this would pass like everything always did. He was going to enjoy this summer camp to the fullest.

~o~

Several weeks passed. The dreams did not. In fact, they only grew more intense with each night, as if they were trying to tell him something, something he _needed_ to remember. Gilbert didn't have much time to do any remembering however, as on top of the dreams, other symptoms attempted to incapacitate him.

There was the fact that he had gotten into trouble for stealing raw meat from the fridge. And no matter how he looked at it, he swore his hair had grown at least twice as long since the start of camp. His breath was foul, even after brushing his teeth multiple times. He had to clip his nails almost on a daily basis, and he swore his hearing and sight had gotten a lot better.

The other kids were starting to grow suspicious, no matter how much Gilbert denied there being anything wrong with him, because really, what could there possibly be wrong? He didn't feel like he was coming up with the flu or anything worse, didn't feel any hint of lacklustre, still pranked and joked around and had the healthy appetite of a boy his age. Nothing could be _wrong_ , so then what…?

The answer came suddenly, almost without announcing itself. It was the night of the full moon, the second one that had happened during their stay, and also their last night there. And for Gilbert, it felt like it could possibly be the last night of his life.

Already early in the evening, Gilbert had had to excuse himself from activities as a certain fever caught him off-guard. He had been fine one moment, squirming and panting on the ground the next. Brought back to the cabin where they slept, he was promised a few hours rest, and perhaps after that he would feel well enough to join the final activities.

Gilbert felt absolutely miserable. Like he couldn't catch his breath, no matter how many times he tried. The fever-reducing medicine they had given him only made him throw up, so he wasn't even thinking about touching that again.

He felt icky and nauseous, his insides seemingly wanting to escape his body, erupt into a magnificent blossoming tree. The boy let out a semi-hysterical snort at that image, having a tree grow straight from his gut, but then it was back to moaning as a new wave of pain shook his body and rattled his bones. Maybe he was having the most immense growth spurt any adolescent had ever had, or perhaps he had been bitten by a rare mosquito still unknown to mankind. Either way, he felt faint and lightheaded.

Gilbert's discomfort had reached such high levels that he hardly noticed the door opening. Footsteps nor breathing crossed his now ever-sensitive ears, but he sighed when a cold damp cloth was placed over his forehead. Gilbert opened his eyes gratefully, wanting to say his thanks, but froze when he found a complete stranger leaning over him.

He had inhuman, almost luminescent eyes, the colour of light lavender. He seemed young, with fair skin and round cheeks, yet his height and muscle mass wanted to say the opposite. But most importantly, he was a stranger, here, alone with Gilbert in the cabin, while everyone was outside.

Gilbert opened his mouth to scream, that being his first intuition, despite him not being very proud of his sudden fear. The other placed a large hand over his mouth, successfully smothering the sound.

"Hush, no shouting!" he whispered roughly, Gilbert glaring at him despite still feeling like every breath could be his last. The other giggled, observing him closely. "You look like a fighter. Good, good. You will need it."

The stranger looked over his shoulder, checking the surrounding darkness for any curious onlookers. Gilbert was starting to feel a little faint, and the hand was only removed from his mouth when he gave a light nip at it.

"Ouch," his visitor said with another giggle, sniffing curiously at the red drops welling up from his thumb. Gilbert's eyebrows shot up; he hadn't thought he'd actually cut the skin that easily.

He tried shuffling back when the hand was once more sent this way, this time stopping a short ways from his face, held out as if he wanted to simply shake hands with him.

"My name is Ivan. And yours was…?"

Gilbert stared at the offending hand, then frowned up at the intruder. "What the hell are you doing here? Want to steal all our stuff? Are you a rapist? A murderer?" He felt his bravado grow as the words easily came out, successfully hiding his still mounting uneasiness.

Ivan laughed softly, crawling on top of the bed, completely ignoring the other's loud protests. "You would want that, wouldn't you?" he purred, eyes darkening. Finally, Gilbert felt as distressed as he should in this situation, the true meaning of his words dawning on him. _Please just be a prankster._

Another sudden shot of pain made him arch his back, eyes rolling back into their sockets as whines of agony forced their way out of his throat, body writhing. Ivan waited patiently, almost cradling him through the episode until he fell back, panting jaggedly.

Ivan sniffed again, stroking sweaty bangs from his eyes. "It is almost time. We should leave now."

"Wha…what are you…" Gilbert was too pre-occupied by the strange behaviour of his body to fully pay attention. Like a sack of potatoes he was lifted over Ivan's shoulder, and only a sudden waft of cool air warned him that they were outside.

Only after a couple of minutes did this wave finally decide to calm down, and Gilbert was allowed a moment of rational thought. And the first thing he decidedly did _not_ want to see right then, was Ivan sprinting through the woods, already far away from camp.

"Put me down!" he yelled, struggling in an attempt to escape. If he could just get away from this kid, he might have a shot at making it back.

Ivan laughed. "So you _are_ awake!" he sang, in a fluid motion lifting Gilbert from his shoulder and planting him to the ground, smiling gently all the while. "Sorry, friend. There will be no going back for you."

"What the fuck are you going on about?" Gilbert growled, a sudden rush of adrenaline making him furious. He tried struggling again, this time with more success—he actually managed to pull an arm free and give the other a scratch. Ivan's head bent to the side, a clear red mark left behind. Shock rippled through Gilbert's body. Had his nails really grown long enough to do _that_ within the last few hours?

When Ivan looked back at him, all humour had left his expression. He once more gripped Gilbert's shoulders, this time with so much force it hurt, successfully keeping the boy rooted to the spot.

"Listen to me, and listen closely," he said in a low voice, Gilbert gulping. This was it, this was the moment he died.

"You should be thankful that I am doing this for you," Ivan continued, never relinquishing his grasp. "I could have killed you. In fact, I _had_ almost killed you, that night. Had it not been for those hunters, you would have been dead."

Gilbert listened, but couldn't make head nor tails of Ivan's story. Killed him? Ivan? When on earth would he have done that? Oh no, was he actually some kind of crazy stalker?

"You know what night I speak off." One hand released him, but before Gilbert could even think about making use of that moment of freedom, it was draped over his shoulder and placed at the back of his neck, scratching idly at his scruff. Gilbert shuddered, the flesh tingling; it was the exact spot where he always dreamt to have been bitten. The exact same spot, now feeling like it was on fire.

Ivan leant in close, bringing his lips to an ear, hairs tickling at Gilbert's cheek. "I am…sorry. For the fate I have forced upon you. But we are not in control of our own senses when that night comes, and when a human crosses our paths, our instincts only want one thing."

 _To feed._

Gilbert shook, not knowing where the thought came from. He licked his lips nonetheless, suddenly feeling a raging desire take over him. A new wave of pain made him tremble, but this time, he became aware of a strange stretching sensation, an almost intuitive reassurance—it's okay, just relax. You'll be fine.

Ivan watched him with hooded eyes, his facial features seeming to narrow and morph at the same time Gilbert began slipping away.

"I promise to take care of you. It is my fault you are like this."

And a final sound before everything became new, an almost lonely howling that called for him.

~o~

The boys from camp where searching through the bushes and the trees, flashlights casting light here and there.

"Gilbert!" "Gilbert, where are you?!" "This isn't funny anymore, you douchebag!"

A boy named Arthur was leading the search party. He had been assigned the leader of their group, so if anything were to happen to Gilbert, it was his fault, and his alone.

"Dammit Gilbert, where are you…" he murmured, checking what felt like the hundredth hollow tree. "I swear to God, if this is all just another prank…"

Rustling grabbed his attention. Arthur quickly pointed the flashlight, finding an opening in between two trees. Then he froze.

He didn't find a boy.

Instead, a lone wolf was staring right at him, and Arthur could have sworn he recognised those glowing red eyes.

"Gilbert…?"

That was the last thought to have ever crossed his mind.


End file.
